Ora Noc Terrol: The Road to Paradise

[Shadow Moonseye]

“You gonna buy somethin’, or just stand there all day?” The man spoke, drumming his fingers impatiently on the worn counter. His voice was thick and gravely, hinting at the rough life he had seen. “Hurry it up, you’re holdin’ up the line.”

708 blinked, her attention pulled away from the wall and directed at the impatient shop-keep. She focused on him, watching every muscle tick and twitch, though her face remained utterly impassive. The man was older; he had to of been in his fifties at the least. His graying hair was cut in a short, severe style; reminiscent of the military guards that had watched over the woman for so many years of her life. Her hands clenched where they hung at her sides, but she forced down the swell of emotion; instead focusing again on the man before her. His dark skin was pock-marked, covered in scars from battles long fought, holding a leathery texture that came from years spent under Sheol’s harsh sun. Though his age was evident in his features, he still retained the body of his youth. Muscular and grizzled, he gave off an air that promised a most unpleasant death should one cross him.

“Well?” Her eyes flicked down to meet his, the brown orbs wavering under the force of her teal ones, but he didn’t look away.

That something she had noticed from the moment she had stepped off the shuttle and into the dust of the small settlement. The planet was harsh, and bred only the strong. Even the one small child she had seen showed no fear at the group that had filed off the shuttle. No, the child had shown only a guarded distrust of the strange people, a veiled hostility.

She blinked again, before breaking eye contact and turning her eyes back to the wall. It was filled with gun racks, every inch of space taken up by a gun. They ranged in price and quality, but for the most part they all seemed to be in good repair. Calling such a hostile environment home, it made sense that weapons were carefully cared for. The left wall of the small store was lined with blades, ranging from the standard pocket knife to blades the length of a grown man’s forearm; while the right wall was lined with shelves of ammunition. Set into the back wall behind the counter was a heavily locked door. 708 guessed that it lead to a storage area; maybe where he kept the high quality merchandise? In the wall of munitions another door was set, propped open by a sizable rock. The shop-keep’s office. Mechanical sounds could be heard coming from inside it, though she was unable to determine their source. A robotic assistant? She couldn’t be sure, not with the sounds of the other patrons--those from the shuttle and a few locals in for repairs-- filling the air.

She let out a light breath, turning her attention back to the matter at hand: The weapon she was about to purchase. She wanted something that she could conceal easily, and wouldn’t weigh her down. It needed to be powerful, she wasn’t worried about kick, as she was strong enough to one hand many guns that traditionally needed to use both. Her flicked over the guns on display, deciding that she would stick with a handgun.

After another moment’s scrutiny she raised her hand and pointed. “That. Spare clip, box of rounds, and a holster.” Her eyes flicked to the wall of knives briefly, but she said nothing more.

The shop-keep turned, following her point to a handgun on the wall. A Preliator Hand Cannon, the favored side arm of heavy weapon users throughout much of the galaxy; the beast of a handgun had enough power behind it to snap the wrist of an unwary user, and put down all but the most dangerous of enemies in a single shot.

The man lifted the sidearm from its place on the wall and gave it a quick once over, checking the clip before sliding it home. He reached under the counter and pulled out a second clip, the box of ammunition and the holster. All the items were set on the counter before 708. “That’ll be five twenty-five.”

She nodded, reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. She quickly peeled off the appropriate amount and handed it over to the shop-keep. “Five twenty -five.” Scarred hands reached out and the woman lifted her purchases from the countertop, before stepping aside. She took a quick moment to survey the shop, then swiftly made her way towards an empty corner to organize her new possessions.

“Good luck out there, kid.” The shop-keep laughed as he pocketed the cash, though the sound was far from friendly and light hearted. “You’re going to need it.” He waved up the next customer, watching the odd woman move off out of the corner of his eye. “What’ll it be kid?”

[Digital Muse]

Zira's father stepped from the open-roofed truck at the edge of the mining claim that her close-knit family and community owned. It was Zira's turn to walk among the Out-Worlders; to learn their ways so they can understand their enemies. He looked toward his tall, strong daughter. All the Hellites were survivors, strong in body and mind. But, insular and suspicious as well. It was a weakness in his eyes. He was one of the very few among the mining claim they lived on that agreed with the young ones learning about the Out-Worlders. In his time, he had done the same and learned about the new long-rifles with the laser scopes stolen from a Naval outpost that had shown up suddenly on Sheol. Too many of the clan had died before that had been relayed to the Elders.

He pulled his dark-lensed goggles down to hang around his bull-thick neck and squinted across the red, dessicated landscape toward the distant settlement of Makala. "Remember what I tol' ya. Keep quiet. Out-Worlders tend to talk. They'll tell ya everything you want to know without even askin'." He advised with a rough voice unused to speaking, it seemed. Like his daughter, his hair was long, red and roughly braided with bits of leather, ribbons or bits of bone. His showed more gray in his his hair and beard, but it was the only sign of his age. His hands were wide and strong, holding a turn crank and ratchet wheel hand gun, but the curved shortened sword looked like his main weapon. It was brutal and meant for the ugly business of hacking an enemy to pieces up close and personal.

Zira stood in her seat, shading her eyes with a strong hand as if she might see the settlement she would be walking towards in short order. She knew she would have to take her leave so that she wasn't caught out in the desert after dark. Even a supreme survivor like herself was at risk from the roving bandit clans or wild predators if she was caught out alone. She hopped out of the buggy and retrieved her bag; a gift from her eldest brother. Many others of her clan refused to leave the clan lands. Some feared it, but went. Some never returned, but Zira was excited. She wanted to learn about the Out-Worlders. She'd only seen a few. Usually dead or insane from the heat or from their failed search for Ora. She knew she could hire out as a guide. But she had no idea what to expect. It was at once thrilling and terrifying.

She moved to stand beside her father, almost as tall as he was. No words passed between them, none were needed. They traded a brief hug and he nodded at her, "Best move out smartly. Come home when you're ready." That was all. He turned away to climb back into the buggy to drive back to the clan's enclave. Zira settled her messenger bag over her head and across her torso. A deep breath and she started a ground-eating jog that should bring her to the settlement by sundown. Her goggles and bandana kept the dust and sun from her eyes and mouth.

Alternating between jogging and walking, Zira was able to come into Makala perimeter just as a shuttle settled onto the dusty road. Zira took it as a good sign; her time away would be a success for sure. She still sweated, so she knew she hadn't over-extended herself in the heat of the desert. A few of the inhabitants of Makala noted the red hair and ribbons in her hair and disappeared into their make-shift buildings. Usually, seeing a Hellite meant you were about to die. Zira ignored it all, the settlement was enormous to her untrained eye. She wandered down the main street, noting the passengers filing off the shuttle were heading to a particular corrugate tin shack.

If she wanted a job, that seemed a good a place to start as any. Pushing her way inside what was an outfitter made her eyes widen and her heart lust for the items on the walls. But the first thing she noted was a gigantic woman larger than anyone she'd ever seen in her entire lifetime. Zira merely blinked until the shop keeper scowled at her and gritted out. "You got money or you here for trouble?" As he asked the question, he reached beneath the counter and produced a handgun with an enormous bore. He merely laid it on the counter, not expressly aiming it at her. But his intention was clear; if she did anything aggressive, he'd put a hole the size of his ham-sized fist straight through her.

Zira shook her head and kept her hands away from her own weapons. "No. I look for work. I will guide."

[quakernuts]

To be honest, Luke didn't really know why he was here. Sheol, a complete hellhole and death to all but the strongest and cautious of people. Yet, Luke took his steps off the shuttle, and with that, resigned himself to the fact that he had probably made one of the worst mistakes of his lifetime. He had been caught up in the gold rush feeling, and now it was sinking away to reveal a legitimate fear of what he may just encounter on this planet. The harsh sun glared down at him, and he quickly donned his shades to counter the rays, and ended up following the group of people he had been travelling with. He had no idea where they were going, nor did he really feel the need to ask. A lot of these people looked like they would rather kill him than talk to him, and he really didn't feel like seeing if that was true. The sense of awkwardness and ill placement quickly took root in Luke's heart as they entered the gun shop.

Guns...right. I'm going to need one if I plan on getting anywhere alive. Great, a weapon I haven't tried, let alone shot at someone. Luke thought to himself as he stepped in line behind one of the tallest women he had ever set eyes on. That wasn't really saying much though, considering that he was short to most people standing at only 5'6. She ended up grabbing her weapon, and she quickly moved off to a corner by herself. The way she had ordered the weapon suggest at least knowledge of this kind of work, and that was something that Luke was going to need if he planned on making it out of here alive. "What'll it be kid?" The owner asked, and Luke stumbled in his greeting. He had been pre-occupied thinking of other things. Luckily, before he could say anything, the store owner's eyes quickly shifted over to a newcomer, revealing a large pistol, and issuing a very obvious warning to her. Before long though, the attention was back on him, and he couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the amount of weapons in front of him.

"uhhhh...What would you suggest for someone without much experience with firearms to carry?" Luke asked, and the store owner broke into a laughter that was more embarrassing to Luke than funny. After a moment of that, the Owner simply looked back at him.

"What I would suggest kid, is getting back on that shuttle, and going back to whatever sheltered life you came from. Ne-"

"I didn't ask for life advice, I asked for a weapon." Luke stared down the man, who was twice his size in both height and weight, but the owner only gave an exasperated sigh. The man turned around, muttering to himself about cocky teenagers and their need to show off to everyone around them. Finally, he pulled what looked to be an assault rifle off the wall. The design looked familiar to Luke, but until the Owner started telling him about it, it wasn't until he remembered it from history class.

"M-18 assault rifle, the retro-fitted child of the ancient M-16 assault rifle used when our ancestors were still stuck on one planet. You don't see much of these anymore, many people are going with the G-20 "Vindicator" Carbine. It's very similar to it's distant father, still using 5.56 caliber rounds, shooting at a rate of about 750 rounds per minute, but some things have been changed." The Owner flipped the gun upside down, showing where the clip would go. "Enhanced ammo capacity, a screen near the sights show how many bullets are left. Enhanced muzzle reduces recoil, and an added targeting reticule down the sights to help little freshies such as yourself. Reliable, sturdy, and easily used. This is the weapon you want with you." Luke gave the weapon a once over, grabbing it and testing its weight. It was lighter than he was expecting, which was good. So, remembering what the woman had said in front of him, he used her words as a guideline.

"Alright, I'll take this, along with three spare clips, a box of ammunition, and a holster." His eyes drifted to the blades, and he quickly found one he would like. "Oh, add that curved blade to the deal." The Owner stared up at the weapon, easily the length of a forearm, and looked back at him with an incredible amount of doubt. "I may not know guns, but knives and blades I can definitely handle." The Owner shrugged, and grabbed it, along with it's holster anticipating Luke's request, and placed them on the counter. After a quick count, the Owner finally gave a total.

"We're talking nine-seventy-five here." Luke pulled out his cash, and quickly handed over the money needed. Slipping that away, and grabbing his weapons, he made his way out of the line and took a spot along the wall to see if he could attach all of his weapons to his body without too much trouble. As soon as he started, he knew his vest was going to be a problem with the rifle, seeing as it holstered in the front. Most of his equipment was in those pockets, and he visibly struggled with getting the weapon to fit and sit right on his chest without cutting off access to his other items. He started muttering to himself as he continued to struggle with it.

"I won't need a backpack...nooooooo...Everything can fit in this vest, much more convienent...Hindsight can kiss my ass."

[Kyrt Malthorn]

Ezrin browsed the weapons, trying to look like he knew what he was looking at. The gun shop owner was going over the specs for something - an M-18, Ezrin overheard - and a massive woman was preening over a sizable firearm. There was a strange girl, too; dusty, ribbons in the hair, what looked like feathers skewing her lobe where most would wear proper earrings. Definitely not fresh off the shuttle, as Ezrin and most of the shop's crowd was.

As interesting as this girl was, Ezrin knew he needed a weapon. He meandered toward the counter, as a newly-supplied customer departed it. He noted with some amusement the man he'd just passed was the only other person as short as Ezrin himself.

Ezrin, opting to learn from the mocking of the previous customer, spread his hands on the counter and leaned on them, tilting his head somewhat at the shopkeeper. He was received with a blank, level stare.

"I want something lightweight with big teeth."

"'Nother one, eh?" The shopkeeper saw straight through the 'tough' facade.

"I know, I don't look like the Sheol type. Well, what're you going to do, sell me a lemon? I wouldn't survive to come back for more bullets."

The look the shopkeeper gave him may as well have said 'you wouldn't survive anyway'. Yet, he snatched a medium sized firearm off a rack. "M-9 'Tempest'. SMG. Gets plenty of ammo out of a magazine. Has a full auto setting if you want to waste it - best setting you'd wanna use is the carbine burst. That or the safety. Light enough for ye?"

It wasn't the first gun Ezrin had lifted, but it was the first he'd ever considered firing. He nodded at it, and reached for a belt pouch. "I'll take a shoulder strap and... three extra mags." He glanced at the wall of knives, but he had his father's knife tucked away, and five inches was all he trusted himself with.

"Six sixty-nine."

Ezrin unrolled his money wad and counted it out; he tried not to grimace at what little he had left. Nevertheless, he handed it over. The shopkeeper slapped the strap on the SMG, and Ezrin doffed his jacket to sling it over his bare shoulder. He adjusted it carefully to sit atop the shoulder of his sleeveless shirt, and pulled his jacket over it. He admired the effect; he left his jacket unzipped, and as long as he didn't twist to the left, the gun didn't show. He took a few steps from the counter; the weapon clacked against his belt pouches, but that was easily fixed by shortening the strap - as far as it would go. He muttered under his breath - they never accounted for short people when they made these things.

Despite the added baggage, it felt a weight off his shoulders.

His eyes came back to the strange, rugged girl. Unlike the rest of the severe crowd, she looked like a little girl in a doll shop. Maybe it was his imagination; she was looking at guns after all. But, there was something else about her. Something that was seriously amiss in the rest of the shop - an eagerness, perhaps.

Or it could have been Ezrin's imagination. Wishful thinking. Or a death wish. Either way, he found himself approaching. "Hello," he greeted her, barely thinking. "You don't look like fresh meat - you're a local, here?"

[Squall Reyes]

A gnawing could be heard as the a duo of men went through the streets of Makala. It sounded almost animalistic in nature, the kind of noise you hear when the animal is trying to gnaw off its own legs from a trap. That would not be far off from the truth, though this animal was more biting at the cold steel of the trap than himself. All the same though, the men pulling the animal ahead were getting tired or the noise.

"Would you stop that!" Shouted one that had finally lost her nerve with the noise. The noise had indeed stopped but the teeth stayed on the handcuffs.

Jack slowly looked up and gave very toothy if not uncomfortable smile. "I'd love to. But you see I have this aversion to being chained." He quickly began to start gnawing again on it.

Nearly as soon as Jack had begun biting the steel again the large man had lifted a rather large handgun at his head.

"NO!" Said the other and moved quickly to get the gun away from the other. "The money call for him to be brought in alive!"

"I don't care! He hasn't stopped that or talking since we caught him! We can still get half if we bring in the body!" He said in a manner that was almost desperate. He looked at Jack, and received a wink as well as the continued noise of gnawing.

"You kill him and I gut you so I can have your half. Get it?" The man was clearly larger than the other and had stood in a way to leave that in little doubt. The other, though on the verge of a very bad twitch, finally gave in to the threat of death and put away his weapon.

The gnawing continued further into the town, and the man now had begun to visibly twitch at each sound of grinding teeth and metal. He could think of nothing more than for the noise to end and was unsure if they could ever make it to there destination, no matter how close they were. Then suddenly, the gnawing had stopped as they passed two of the larger buildings in town.

He turned to find himself alone, his partner and Jack no where to be seen. The man was just about to begin a panic when after a few steps he spotted two figures between the buildings. He recognized Jack as the one standing on the other side of the trash bin relieving himself and his partner sitting on the other side.

"God damn it man, you've got to tell me when we have to let that freak do his business." He called down the alley way as he moved toward both men. "Well least you found a place we can keep out of that damn sun for a m-" His sentence was cut short as he came up to the front of his seemingly sitting partner. His partners eyes were dead to the world, and finally a pool of red was beginning to come into view.

His eyes moved over to Jack, and a small glint that came from the top of the trash bin. Sitting on it was a knife, with an unmistakable crimson stain on it. A cold terrifying fear came over him as Jack's hand slowly came upon the blade, his wrist very much not handcuffed. With an almost dismissive wave, the knife flew from his hand and found its mark in the captors sternum.

Jack gave a smile as he heard the man let out that unique grunt, the kind that only comes from a man who had be struck so mercilessly by a blade which has found his heart. Jack gave himself a shake before zipping up and gave a very satisfied sign, from the piss or the sounds of two people dying, who knows. But Jack was more than pleased as he began to waltz, literally, over to the two fallen forms on the other side of the trash.

Jack eyes were met with the still shocked and clinging to life eyes of the man with a knife buried in his chest. His body gave an involuntary shiver, but Jacks face gave a smile as he held up the handcuffs which had kept his skills locked down till then. Jack heard a whisper from the lips which began to trickle blood, "How?" Jack leaned in closed, and whispered in the dying mans ear. "I'm magic." And with that pulled the knife from it's crimson sheath, and the mans mouth flowed with blood and he shook, then laid still.

Jack looked over the scene with smile and a rather curious face, then move the two men closer together, arms around one another. Then he heard it. Beautiful music in his head, and began to dance once again from the scene he had left for the next soul who enters to find. He stopped his waltz as he entered the street and he did not have to wait long for someone to come across his scene as after only passing several buildings he heard a scream.

Jack had found himself with the last stragglers from a shuttle which had landed some ways away and followed the crowd into a tin shack.

[The Melancholy Spirit]

Rua pulled his knife away from the new notch in the wall of his shack, slipping the blade back into the sheath on his utility belt. He took a few steps back until his knees hit the edge of his cot and he dropped onto it, slumping until his back made contact with the tin metal walling. He sighed, counting over them again as he did each day prior. It had been a year, eight months, and sixteen days since he first settled down in Makala. She had died just over three weeks before that, after nearly five months of search for the so-called Paradise she believed so firmly in. Rua had loved her for her unshakeable faith in any and all things she so-chose to believe in. A faith he didn’t have, a faith he saw no reason to. It was the kind of faith he respected.

He swallowed hard and pushed himself from the cot, slipping into his weathered tank and jacket. His scarf hung on a nail at the door, promptly removed and wrapped around his neck on his way out. Again the sun was beating down harshly on the settlement. It was hard to recall a day when it wasn’t. The heat was blistering, though Rua had gotten used to it just as he had the thin air. He tilted his head down, slipping the sunglasses onto his face. When he looked up again, he saw the sights he was so used to; the rundown shack-filled settlement of the backwater mining planet that supposedly housed Paradise. The thought of it made him grimace inwardly, though showing only a slight level of discomfort on his face.

It was still mid-morning, what few inhabitants the settlement was home to milling about doing the most strenuous of work before the heat truly became overwhelming. Moving through the buildings he made his way to the clinic, a large shack of three tin metal walls and one of mismatched wooden boards, a roof made of aged, torn, and stained brown clothe canvas. It stood next to the cantina, a building of rounded features that looked like a dome with a third opened to an elongated open bar, from which a lean-to of similar clothe canvas blocked the tormenting sun. Twenty meters further was the shuttle drop off, at the present time empty, as it had been for several weeks.

Rua pushed open the flap that served as a door into the clinic. It was empty. He had only to deal with local labor injuries for a few weeks. No daring adventures getting shot up or half eaten, no immediate threats from outlying bandits on the locals; just everyday injuries, small and relatively insignificant. Looking around the shack, filled with cots and medical trays separated by circular curtains and particle board walls; Rua had a sense of emptiness. He blinked, turning to leave the clinic and head for the cantina.

It wasn’t long after he sat down at the bar and ordered a drink when someone approached him. A call had come in from Kel’s Garage. Nothing was specified, but she had injured that could use taking care of. Considering Makala wasn’t in dire need of him, they had given the permission that he take the trip. By giving him the permission it was simply passing on the message, rather than letting it drop as if it never happened and leaving him unaware. Rua gave a nod to the messenger and finished his drink. An escort to spare wasn’t something Makala had at the time. He knew he would have to make the trip alone. That meant spare ammo, a lot of it.

He was halfway to the shop when he heard it. A rumbling, rattling, clanking sound of engines and lose frame. He turned to see the hovering shuttle settling down at the drop off. His face creased in an amused smirk at the timing. The first to step off the shuttle caught his attention immediately, enough to widen his eyes slightly behind the glasses. The woman was an amazon by every definition of the word, or a perhaps a valkyrie considering the complexion of her pale skin. Her stature hinted at muscles beneath the quaint clothing, her height one to tower over him and blonde hair in an unruly fashion. It brought a smirk to his face. It didn’t matter what the rest of the would-be adventurers were like, she was a good sign. He turned away from the shuttle, briefly returning to his hovel of a home to gather the rest of his gear before making his way to the shop once more.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Alex looked over the stock of weapons available. She was taken back only slightly from it. She felt like she was standing at the issuing counter of a military armory, or more appropriately a mercenary armory considering the conditions of the planet, the settlement, and more importantly the majority of the weapons available for purchase. She almost snorted at the selection, keeping her amusement held in check with a simple smirk at the merchant.

The weapon that caught her attention, particularly due to the trouble with her eyes, was an M4 Mk. II Escallion Scattershot. It was beaten up, far from the best weapon on the racks. But it suited her and would likely not tear a hole straight through the bottom of every pocket she had. Raising her left hand she pointed at it, muttering the name under her breath. The owner of the shop gave her a look under a quirked brow and shook his head. He pulled the scattershot down and set it on the counter.

“Knock you on your ass, girl.” Alex smirked.

“Long as it gets the job done.” She winced under the sharp pain that came with her words. The eye was acting up again. The headaches were constant, even covering her eye did nothing. She spent a year with a patch over it. Cut her vision in half, screwed with her depth perception, and still the headaches were constant. Something was terribly wrong with them. All covering the eye did was prevent the sudden onslaught of pain that came with when the eye decided to shift from near to far sighted several times in less than a second, and remain doing such for more than a few. She rubbed the side of her face and shook her head.

“Anything else?”

Alex nodded. “A bandoleer, three boxes of shells.”

“Five thirty-six,” the man said, setting everything on the counter. After paying him, Alex grabbed the gear and moved off. She found a bench near the door and took the seat, removing shells from the box and slipping as many into the bandoleer as possible before sliding it over her head and onto her shoulder, strung across her chest diagonally. The remaining shells she emptied into any place in any pocket she could find room, keeping enough out to fill the scattershot with an eight shell load. After checking the weapon over another time she looked up to see a man leaned against the wall near the door. He hadn’t been on the shuttle with the others.

She examined him closely. A large frame, even covered in the clothing he wore she could tell that his build was that of thick muscle. She noted the unusual fashion he wore his hair. Cropped short, nearly buzzed, along the sides and back with the top worn long, twisted into medium-sized dreadlocks and tied back at the base of his neck. The muscles, hair, and the septum ring and gauged ears made him look intimidating enough, though among the current group that meant very little. They had the giantess, after all. She almost made the dark skinned man look tiny. She made Alex look like a miniature, a toy mold someone propped up in the shop as a decoration. What struck Alex the most about this man, however, was the full face tattoo. She recognized it, though only barely. It looked familiar to something she saw when she was child, something in a book. She couldn’t recall what it was.

He looked down at her, a face that held a stoic expression that seemed as if an artist had chiseled it into his flesh, along with the tattooed markings. She turned away. He had been there when they all walked in. He was probably a body guard. Extra security for the owner of the shop, though the man behind the counter wasn’t really the type to need extra security…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He had felt the eyes on him. When he looked at her she turned away. She wasn’t much to look at. A shorter woman in comparison to the others of the room, her frame almost humorously average against theirs. Light blond hair cut short in a jagged fashion, moderately tanned skin, and green eyes that were now looking over her weapon as if she was becoming intimate with an already familiar object.

Rua removed his eyes from her and went back to examining those present. Already having supplied himself with extra ammunition, he was getting a feel for those he would be traveling with; for the time. Once they arrived at Kel’s these adventurers would be on their own merry way, off in the great search for Ora. The folly thing that it was, the fable, the superstitious folklore legend that attracted fools from all across the galaxy; fools like… her. He closed his eyes and sighed. With a groan he opened them again.

The two figures that intrigued him the most were the larger women; one because she was a newcomer from the shuttle, and she towered over even him. Not to mention the numerous scars that were readily visible on what flesh was exposed. The scars were, to a trained eye, intriguing to say the least. He made a note to get a closer look, perhaps ask her about them. Though the manner in which she carried herself suggested that she was not the kind to speak of them so easily. She would take work to get close enough to to ask such things. It was something Rua understood well, though the reasons and information were far different.

The other woman, she was more of a concern than anything. She was a native, of a particular type at that. Rua had very little experience with them, never having known one or fought one personally, but he had treated many who did have run-ins with the natives. He would be keeping a wary eye on her, just in case.

[Digital Muse]

Jubal lazed in the straw-stuffed bed of the young barmaid from Makala's single watering hole. The girl was nude, half-draped across his chest with her legs tangled delightfully with his. Even as delectable as the view was, the heat was already making him uncomfortable. Why anyone would stay in this forsaken corner of hell was something he simply couldn't fathom. Diedre murmured softly in her sleep drawing Jubal's attention back to her. His lips quirked upwards at the corners. The memory of last night was....thrilling.

The sudden hammering of a solid fist against his bed-partner's door, jolted Jubal right out of the bed, tumbling the sleep-confused girl onto the floor rudely. "I know your in there you little bastard!" Shouted a darkly forbidding raspy voice. "Diedre! Get up and unlock this door this instant!" Diedre pushed her sandy-blonde hair out of her eyes sleepily, then they flashed open in raw fear. "Daddy?!" She scrambled to wrap herself in her thread-bare sheet and delay as much as she could.

Jubal needed little extra time. Snatching up his clothes in one arm, he lifted the sash on the tiny room's single window and after a bright wink, he mouthed "See you tonight." and promptly climbed through.

The slender young man barely cleared the sill when the door was kicked in forcibly. A mountain of a main with a red face, throbbing veins in his forehead and carrying a large-bore scatter-gun of some ilk loomed in the doorway. "Lazarre! You little fuck! I'm going to kill you!"

Diedre leapt at her father, "Daddy! No! You can't!" By the time old man Parker had disentangled himself from his distraught daughter, Jubal had managed another peek at a very fine backside before scrambling around the side of the building and down an alleyway.

A barking dog chased him for a few blocks before the heat made the game fruitless for both of them. Jubal leaned against the clap-board wall, catching his breath, still nude and holding onto his clothes. Two passers-bye glanced at him curiously, but hurried on their way when he grinned brilliantly, greeting, "Ladies."

He had to think of something and soon. Diedre was the last of the very few girls in the settlement he could have spent some time with and now, he truly had goaded the devil himself. Old Man Parker was infamous for making anyone that even looked at his daughter disappear. "How....inconvenient."

Jubal groused as he climbed into his pants. Putting on his shirt and vest, he settled his goggles on his head before a sound caught his ears. What...? The shuttle! He could latch on to a bunch of prospectors or searchers and get some money from them if he was quick and clever. He waggled his brows at the dog who had laid down panting in the shade of the building near him. "And I am always quick and clever."

Peeking around the corner of the building proved that he had lost Parker, so he trotted out onto the board walk so he could get into the supply depot as soon after the passengers as he could. He would need to watch them buy supplies and get a feel for who might prove the best ones to work.

Most of the passengers had already entered the shop when Jubal arrived and he rushed in slightly more than he would have liked. The first thing he noted was well...the biggest woman he'd ever seen. She was quite confidently loading a gun that would have broken his wrist to fire, even as fit as he was. His normal approach might not be the best course of action on that front. Maybe...drinking? Gambling? Arm-wrestling? The prospects didn't look good there. The two smaller men behind her looked more promising. Fake maps, gambling or drinking, maybe even the old 'my Mother needs an operation' approach would sway them. He'd keep it in mind.

But then the shop keeper pulled a gun out from beneath his counter and Jubal instinctively dodged until he realised the shop owner was growling at a Scrounger. Or that's what they called people like her on other planets he'd been thrown off on. Clearly a native with a bad reputation. Hmmmm, looking for work too? How can I work that? "Jesus! Aren't there any women smaller than me on that damned shuttle?" He groused under his breath.

He took his turn in line, figuring he couldn't stay in Mankala after the incident this morning. When his turn came, he bit his lip. mentally counting his money. He'd been there so long, he'd gone through much of his stash and had stolen some things, then sold them and even unwillingly sold some of his own things waiting for the right time.

The Shop-keeper looked him over, having seen him around the settlement and grunted. It could have meant anything. Jubal, looked around then swiftly listed off: bedroll, 2 canteens, bush-knife, and 5 pounds of size 6 ball bearings. The shop keeper got the items as Jubal called them off but froze when he was asked for the ball bearings. "What the hell did you say?"

Jubal grinned, his handsome face lighting up. "I just love shiny metal balls."

[Crazy Hobo]

Mazrim Bor was one of the last people off of the shuttle, mostly because he could hardly stand to be near the lower class vagabonds that had inhabited the shuttle on its journey to Sheol. It was truly a pity that Mazrim’s commanding officers hadn’t allowed him to take his personal shuttle to Sheol, but they had been rather adamant about that before he left. The journey would have even been quicker if he had used his shuttle, but there was really no arguing with the High Command. And he had wasted all that time making sure the shuttle was prepared. Mazrim sighed as he realized that he was standing on the shuttle ramp, alone. Now was not the time to get caught up in his own thoughts. Sheol had a reputation, and he was not about to be stabbed by some street urchin or bandit before he could even get off the shuttle That simply would not do.

His first order of business was to buy a weapon. The High Command had also been adamant about the fact that he leave any weapons behind. An odd order, but an order was an order and Mazrim was not about to disregard an order from his superiors. At least he was allowed to take a large amount of funds with him. Enough to secure weapons, a guide, and anything else he needed on this God forsaken backwater rock. Mazrim remained on the ramp for another moment, scanning the piece of shit town the locals called Makala. After locating what appeared to be a weapons store, Mazrim finally stepped onto the dusty ground of Sheol, immediately noticing another little tidbit he had heard about Sheol. It was ungodly hot, and the atmosphere was rather thin. The thin atmosphere was not a problem, though. On his tours, Mazrim had served on many planets with atmospheres just as thin. The only problem was the heat, and the dust for that matter. The dust was something that he could easily compensate for, but his uniform wasn’t exactly cool in such weather. Mazrim could have easily removed the jacket, but then the uniform would be incomplete, imperfect. No, his only option was to adapt quickly.

Wishing to be rid of the heat, Mazrim walked briskly towards the entrance of the weapons shop, and was relieved to find that it was at least a bit cooler inside the shop. Mazrim did not, however, let the cooler air distract him. The instant he stepped inside the shack, his eyes scanned every person currently inside for a possible threat. Most of the people were of absolutely no consequence, just the average adventurer out for glory. There were a few, though, who did catch Mazrim’s eye. The first was a tall, well-built Maori man. He seemed experienced with Sheol, and a dangerous man at that. Clearly someone Mazrim would have to keep an eye on. The second was a woman, maybe an inch taller than himself, who looked practically feral with her wild red hair where she had apparently tied ribbons of some sort. Most likely a local and one that could possibly be a fantastic guide if Mazrim could trust her for even an instant. People like that killed for the most petty of things. The third was the man standing at the counter, the one who had said a moment ago that he liked shiny metal balls. There was probably nothing to the man, but Mazrim felt as if he needed to watch out for him. The last was the most intriguing of them all. This woman was an absolute monster of a human being, taller than almost every man that Mazrim had served with, and she sported numerous scars just on the skin that Mazrim could see. Although the most interesting part of this giantess had to be the tattoo on her left cheek.

“708,” Mazrim mumbled to himself. Very, very interesting. He would have to inquire about the thing after he finished purchasing his weapons. Now that he had sized up, in a manner, the people inside the weapon shop, Mazrim advanced to the counter, the man who liked shiny balls having just stepped away.

“What is it you want… Your types usually have all the weapons they want.” The shopkeep looked at him warily, his hand reaching bellow the counter to grasp something, no doubt it was a pistol.

“You have nothing to worry about, shopkeep. I simply require arms.” Mazrim paused for a moment to glance at the handguns. A handgun seemed to be the proper weapon at least for now. “I will take that Gemini Mk II, three extra magazines, a box of ammunition, and that combat knife,” Mazrim gestured curtly to a 12” combat knife and waited for the man to bring him everything.

“That’ll be Eight forty-seven.” Mazrim handed the shopkeep the money, and moved over to an empty space to familiarize himself with the weapon. For now, the giantess could wait.

[Shadow Moonseye]

Her back to a corner, 708 let out an anxious breath. The shack was starting to feel small, and every person within the confines of the store ratcheted up her unease another level. At least from her corner she had a clear view of the entire room and all occupants. She would not be caught off guard or with her back turned to them.

Hard, suspicious eyes looked over the occupants of the room. The first was an obvious native; female, six foot, from the reactions of the shop keep and several others within the room she had a reputation, and from the way she carried herself she was dangerous. Threat level: moderate to high? Moving on. A small man with calloused and scarred features; he had spoken of no knowledge of guns. The way he carried the rifle was awkward at best. Threat level: Low. Next, an equally short man dressed in matching jacket and pants--an incomplete uniform?-- his conversation with the shopkeep went much the same as the previous man’s had. Threat level: Low. Another man; he had been in the shop when 708 had entered. He was…strange looking. His hair, what wasn’t shaved, was twisted into long ropes and tied back at the base of his neck. A strange ring pierced his nose and both ears were stretched. Topping off the look; his face was completely covered by a tattoo. He was interested. Thickly muscled, the way he held himself suggested he knew how to handle himself. She hadn’t seen him move or speak. Threat level: Unknown? He would be one to watch. It took effort to tear her gaze away and turn it to the next man. He was tall, but still shorter than herself. He hadn’t been on the shuttle; another local? He hung towards the back, keeping to himself and making no real moves towards anything or anyone. Threat level: Unknown. Not one to turn her back on. Her eyes landed on the last woman in the shop; she was small with close cropped hair and her ears were decorated with several piercings each. The gun she had purchased was almost as big as she was. She didn’t seem completely at a loss with the weapon. Threat level: Low. Next was a younger man--someone else who hadn’t been on the shuttle, another local? He didn’t act like much of a fighter or seem like he’d be one to watch. Threat level: Low.

The last man she locked eyes on made her blood freeze. Every muscle in her body tensed and screamed at her to run or kill. It was the uniform. He wore the uniform the guards and soldiers at the Facility wore! Her hands were shaking. She swallowed hard and forced down the panic threatening to engulf her. Had they found her already? No…no, they couldn’t have. She’d been constantly on the move. She hadn’t stopped for more than a few weeks at a time. And the soldier was acting like she was unimportant; like he knew nothing about her. Maybe he was a decoy? Or a former solider? Could he really not know about her? Or was he just waiting for the chance to seize her? Sucking in a shaky breath, one thing was clear: he would have to be dealt with as soon as possible.

Taking deep breaths, she turned her gaze down to her weapon and her attention to settling her gear. It needed to be ready--just in case. Shooting wary glances from the corner of her eye at the solider, she set to work. Nimble fingers opened the box of ammunition and with a practiced ease she loaded the spare clip. She resealed the box and slid off her bag, quickly opening it and placing the box of ammo inside. Next she set to work adjusting her gun’s holster; it was a simple one, made to rest comfortably on one’s thigh. She adjusted the straps to the proper size, and in a smooth motion strapped it to her right thigh. She gave her leg a shake to be sure that it wouldn’t slide around as she moved. She nodded to herself, satisfied. It would hold. She ejected the clip of her gun, preferring to check it herself, rather than trust the shop-keep. A quick inspection of the weapon proved to her that it was in working order; with a deft movement she slid the clip home and holstered the gun. Familiar motions helped calm her; like a security blanket the gun made her feel safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jack!” The shopkeep’s voice cut through the air like the retort of a gun. “Get these kids out on the road. Make sure they don’t piss anyone off; I don’t want to get stuck helping clean up bodies again! Once they’re out that gate get your worthless ass back here and check the stock. Got it?”

From the office door came a loud clatter followed by: “Opps!”

The door banged open and Jack came into view. It was a short little bot, no more than two feet tall. Obviously an older model, being little more than a box on a tread with simplistic arms and single optic lens, the bot had seen better days. The metal casing that made up the body was rusted, patched, and dented; having the look of being repaired many times with less than adequate parts.

The little bot zipped out and focused its single lens on the shopkeep. It snapped a salute to the shop-keep. “Yes sir! I’ll lead everyone safely, don’t you worry!”

The shopkeep groaned and dragged a heavy hand down his face. “Just be sure to lock the damn gate behind you.”

“Of course sir!” It chirped happily, before weaving between the legs of people and opening the door. It paused on the threshold for a moment, then rolled outside. “Follow me everyone! I’ll guide you, yes!”

The group filtered out behind the small robot, some more willing than others, and once the last person was outside the shop-keep slammed the door behind them. Outside, the air was blistering hot, the oppressive afternoon sun causing strange shimmers to morph the surroundings off in the distance. The hard packed earth radiated heat and the few bits of shade nearby buildings offered little shelter from it.

Jack clapped his metal hands together, getting everyone’s attention. “This way please! Keep close, you don’t want to wander off now!” With another all too happy chirp, the bot started off down the wide road that weaved through the town. “Once you leave the town, you all will want to keep following the road south. It’ll take you straight to Kel’s Outpost and Garage. You can spend the night there and she’ll see to it that you all have the proper transportation, yes. After all, you don’t want to get stuck out there on foot in this heat!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

708 took a moment to scan her surroundings; also using the time to reach up and adjust the way the strap on her pack hung over her shoulder. Her gaze flicked over the group, lingering for a moment on persons of interest, she felt her pulse quicken again when her eyes landed on the solider. A beat passed; she shook her head and brought herself back to the present. She checked the strap one last time then started after the small bot that was guiding them. Her strides were long, but evenly paced, quickly bringing her to the head of the group. Teal eyes glanced around, never seeming to miss even the smallest movement of a native insect buzzing above their heads.

[Digital Muse]

The Hellite girl watched the Outworlders buy weapons and supplies. More than half the group appeared to have no idea at all what they were doing. And she had to wonder just what they were thinking in coming to her home. The big woman, the dark-skinned man and the one in a uniform twigged her natural caution. They were the ones she would need to work with most closely if they were to survive. The others, other than the tiny woman, she wrote off almost immediately. They would die in the harsh environment.

As she stood comfortably near the door, one of the newcomers with the pale skin and green eyes approached her. "You don't look like fresh meat - you're a local, here?" Zira looked down at the man, noting the minor scars and tattooed wrist. His random greeting had taken her off guard until she remembered that newcomers knew nothing of her clans. She nodded to his question with a slight downward jerk of her chin. "Yes." When he continued to look at her, Zira realized that he expected more. "We mine here for a long time. I am finding job. I can guide." Her eyes returned to the shopkeeper when he called out for his robot shop help to guide the old group to the edge of the settlement's borders.

Zira exited the shop, immediately pulling up her goggles to shield her eyes out of life-long habit. She kept to the right of the group knowing most people were right-handed and drawing and firing to the right was awkward, thus giving her time to react. Again, the strategy was simply ingrained into her very being. She continued to follow the little bot with the rest of the group to the very edge of the settlement.

Zira kept an eye on the big woman whose natural grace and long strides carried her to the head of the group. The young man with the perpetual smile walked along jauntily as if this were no more than a stroll in an idyllic garden. The dark-skinned man with the tattooed face conserved motion and effort. He'd been through this before, Zira noted. Good. He would be one she wouldn't have to worry about coddling. But the one in the heavy uniform she couldn't decide on. He could handle weapons, obviously, but his manner of dress would cause him to overheat quickly. She'd wait and reserve judgment on him.

As they all walked along, Zira noted the residents of the settlement come out slowly to watch the newest bunch of fools about to head into the wilds. Some faces looked sympathetic, most, however, just reflected the massive indifference to the future of the newcomer's lives. Deep suspicion lit in most faces when they saw Zira, but as she was evidently leaving, they did nothing more than stare.

A sudden wail came from the dusty street. A dark-haired girl raced from a rusted tin shack and launched herself into the smiling youth's arms with tears streaming down her face. "You can't go! You said you couldn't live without me!" The youth smiled brilliantly, "And it's true. But how can I possibly live with myself if I have nothing to support us?" The pair separated slightly from the group while the boy soothed the inconsolable girl. The appearance of another girl, this one with blond hair turned the first girl into an indignant cat from the sound of her screeching.

The confrontation would prove interesting on any other day. At the moment she was more concerned with convincing this group to hire her as a guide.

[Digital Muse]

Jubal eyes Alex, then offers her a bright smile meant to charm. But she seemed engrossed, much to his chagrin. Plenty of time for that. Let's cast some bait. He thinks to himself. As the group heads out into the blasting sunshine, Jubal pretends to search through his messenger bag. He takes care that no one can see what he's actually looking at, giving the impression that he's hiding whatever it is. Pushing the 'item' back into the bag and carefully buckling the straps, Jubal secretly glances at the others to see in any of them appeared curious. There would be time as they travelled together to gather the little fishes in.

He walked in the middle of the pack after the little clanking bot, whistling a jaunty tune. He was happy to get out of this backwater settlement. Especially with his skin in tact. As they walk along, he studies the others as well as the few alleys and streets in case old man Parker came along. Not seeing the old man, or more importantly, his shotgun, Jubal relaxed only mildly discomfited by the sun overhead.

While old man Parker didn't make an appearance, a slightly plain dark-haired girl rushed out into the street, throwing herself into Jubal's arms. "You can't go! You said you couldn't live without me!"

Although startled, Jubal recovered quickly. Stroking the girl's dark hair, 'Barb. It's true. But, how can I possibly live with myself if I have nothing to support us?" He took her aside from the group, but kept them in sight. "Darling. I'm going to prove myself to you. I'm going to come back with enough to support us and get the medical treatment my mother needs." He paused dramatically, placing the girl's hand over his heart. "I swear it." The girl melted into the handsome young man, sniffling, but oddly proud as well. "I am ever so proud of you, Jubal."

No sooner had Jubal begun to extricate himself from Barb's embrace that the lovely blond from the morning also made her appearance. "Uh boy." Jubal sighed under his breath. He started to move quickly to intercept Dierdre with a suddenly suspicious Barbara on his heels.

Diedre took in Jubal and the trailing Barb and her smiling face took on a definitely snarling curled lip. "What're you doing with that cow?" Dierdre started in without preamble.

Barb shrieked as if she'd been burned by a hot poker. "You whore! I know all about you! Not a man in this settlement hasn't seen your feet pointing toward the ceiling!

Jubal winced at that. He realized he was suddenly in mortal danger. The girls screamed at one another, curses, and accusations flew, turning the air blue. Jubal simply stepped back and the two wild cats lit into one another with all the ferocity of desert predators. They grabbed hair, scratched at one another's faces and tore at their clothes. And then it got serious. Barb landed a truly beautiful upper cut, lifting the smaller Dierdre right off her feet. The shapely little blond lay in the dust shaken, but not out and when Barb launched herself at her she lifted her feel and slammed her heels directly into the brunette's solar plexus.

On any other day, Jubal would have enjoyed this show. In fact, he would have been there taking bets and calling the odds. But, now was not the time. This cat-fight was going to bring the entire population from the settlement running to see what the commotion was. He began to back away when he heard the thunderous roar of old man Parker's scatter gun fired off into the air.

It scared him so badly, he leapt 4 feet into the air and bolted; not stopping until he found himself behind the giantess. "Damn....my luck is all aces today, it seems." He muttered to himself.

The booming shotgun blast also had the effect of stopping the fight between the two girls who looked up in confusion with bloody noses and blackened eyes. Glaring at one another, they let others pick them up. It was then that they noted that the object of their disagreement was suddenly absent. Old man Parker, however hadn't missed Jubal's attempt to disappear at all. "Get out here, Lazarre. Come get what's coming to ya." He lowered the muzzle of the shotgun aiming it roughly in 708's direction.

[The Melancholy Spirit]

Alex tilted her head as she turned to watch the spectacle. The screaming women did little to warrant her attention. She has shook her head dismissively at the two of them, fighting over a likely-scoundrel of a man like cats fighting over a plump rat. She turned away and began to move along with the group, following the bot. She’d barely managed a single step before noting the group, and the happy little bot as well, were no longer moving. She sighed, then, near instantaneously, cringed at the boom of a gun. She turned again.

There was more screaming, this time from a man. No surprise, the one holding the gun. He was shouting at someone in the group, a man. Alex lost site of him, hiding somewhere. She looked around, knowing he had to still be among the group, considering the general direction, theirs, the shotgun totting man glared. She groaned under her breath and took a few steps away from the group before another loud noise caused her pause. It was a similar sound, though notably different. She winced. Her ears were ringing and her head was beginning to ache. She rubbed her eyes, fighting the stand up to the mounting pressure behind them.

She looked back, noting that it was one of her group that fired the last shot. He was holding the gun evenly, poised with a steady grip of a man who was more than familiar with the killing machine. As he had been inside the shop, he was calm . Eerily so. Alex wasn’t what one would call a stranger to conflict, involving guns and all manner of weapons, but the calm this man displayed unnerved her. She shook slightly, turning away as the pain worsened. It was a hell of a time for things to kick in, when events around her became heated. It wasn’t a guarantee that such things would trigger an attack, but when they did it infuriated her, and frightened her.

Looking up again, she noted that their rope-haired companion had moved out of the pack. He wasn’t closing in on the shotgun wielding man, however. In stead he had moved at angle around the now backside of the group, the direction they had been heading in. He moved further past that point, a curved path that took him out of optimal range for the shotgun. The cannon pistol he carried could still tear arm off the other man. When he stopped he looked the same as before. He said nothing. Alex doubted the gun was still turned to the ground, where the first bullet he fired slammed home. She couldn’t tell for certain, but assumed he was now holding it somewhere it would cause sizable damage. Whether or not it was aimed to kill, she had no idea. She doubted it, purely based on if he had wanted to kill, the first shot would have done so.

She swallowed and waited, moving further in the opposite direction of either man.

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